


I Ain't a Hooker Mate

by orphan_account



Category: PAYDAY (Video Games)
Genre: hox just had no idea what the hell was going on because NEW NUMBER WHO DIS, kinda crack.... sorta, never leave wolf and sydney alone together; they will fuck with everyone if given the chance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-20
Updated: 2016-07-20
Packaged: 2018-07-25 15:19:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7537855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hoxton is broken out of prison with the help of Wolf, Dallas and some fuckwit wearing his mask that is apparently Dallas' brother. All hard feelings aside (seriously, who the fuck said it was okay to give his mask to someone else?), Hoxton finally arrives at the safe house in one piece.</p><p>He just wasn't expecting a bloody hooker to be there of all things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Ain't a Hooker Mate

**Author's Note:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ 
> 
> P.S. this was whipped up in the span of like, half an hour because it's an idea I've wanted to write for a bit lmao.

He missed this.

He missed the adrenaline with cops hot on his ass like a bad smell, he missed the intense firefights – the harder they fought the bigger their payday after all – and above all he missed his crew; Wolf and his ridiculous “disguises” and equally ridiculous personality, Chains and his off-putting demeanour that intimidated civilians out of raising suspicions – frankly the less time he had to spend barking at brain-dead idiots the better. And Dallas.

Ah Dallas.

Quite frankly, Dallas was a bit of a cunt for just thinking he could up and replace him with his squicky shit of a brother. Who the hell did he think he was? King of England? Was proper bloody rude that was, and frankly it rubbed him the wrong way.

Not that Hoxton would ever admit it aloud; Dallas held the crew together with the help of Bain during his absence, after all.

So instead, Hoxton settled for glowering holes into the back of the newly crowned “Houston’s” (how bloody original…) head from the back seat, nursing scrapes and bruises from their scuffle out of the FBI compound. So this was the bastard that came along instead of Chains? A cheap carbon copy? Scoffing, Hoxton wriggled down into the seat in a poor attempt to get comfy. Wolf snored loudly across from him. If He was honest, Hoxton was kind of annoyed no one had thought to bring him any sort of armour, let alone his damn suit. The vibrant orange wasn’t exactly the best thing to go sneaking around with in the dead of night.

Not that it mattered; by the end of it they had swathed a path of destruction through the building, got the information they needed (and given Hoxton a much needed workout on his hacking skills), and fucked right the hell out of there with the server in tow.

And now in the wee hours of the morning with the sun beginning to lighten the horizon, Hoxton finally tore his acidic glower from Houston to blink blearily at the familiar back alleyway into the safe house. Christ, how long had it been? Years? Fucked if he knew, he was just glad to be out of that shithole of a prison and back into the relative comfort of a familiar environment.

The engine shut off, and Houston tossed the keys to Dallas as he slipped out of the van, the pair of them rounding the back and opening the doors and startling a napping Wolf.

“Aw look what yas did, he was twitchin’ like a lil’ pup in his sleep he was” Hoxton crooned, laughing quietly and helping the sleepy man out the back of the van. Wolf grumbled something in Swedish, but otherwise cooperated with being manhandled out of the truck and into the run-down area that was more or less the living room, Dallas and Houston opting instead to have a smoke before they came inside.

Hoxton froze.

In the kitchen, in nothing but a black tank and briefs that were _clearly_ from the men’s section, was a woman he’d never seen before. Frankly, he wasn’t too sure how to react; Wolf seemed nonplussed about her being there (but to be fair he was half asleep and sort of drooling on his shoulder) and it really didn’t take long for Hoxton to put two and two together - hookers always did hang around until they got their cash, the bloody leeches.

At least he thought she was a hooker; she was definitely easy on the eyes when you took into consideration her wild cyan hair and tattoos.

Glancing at her as he passed, Hoxton more or less threw the drowsing Wolf onto the spare mattress, leaving the Swede to his own devices for the time being. He turned and had to refrain from shooting his hackles up when she pinned him with a cool blue-eyed stare, the toothbrush he hadn’t even noticed initially, still in her mouth. They both seemed to study each other, and naturally (and possibly because of the toothbrush) Hoxton was the first to break the silence.

“How much?” He questioned, raising an eyebrow at her suddenly bemused expression. She blinked, raised a finger and turned to spit in the sink. Hoxton wrinkled his nose; it was a kitchen, not a bloody bathroom for fucks sakes!

“For what?” and oh, _oh_ she was Australian. That certainly caught his attention – what the bloody hell would a hooker all the way from Australia be doing here? Well, he supposed with the cash they would have raked in from heists, they could have easily afforded it. Still didn’t explain why she was staring at him irritably. Maybe breaking her in was part of the deal, who fuckin’ knew. He certainly didn’t keep tabs on what got everyone on his crew off.

“How much do these wankers owe ya? I’m back now, and frankly I’d much rather relax than have to deal with a whore naggin’ for cash she wasn’t paid”

Wolf groaned and muttered curses under his breath behind him, and it only make the situation even more confusing when the woman smiled; the twitch of her lips sharp like a knifes edge and her eyes a glacial razor. She said nothing.

The mattress Wolf was on squeaked, and Hoxton turned to watch him look around for his wallet, fishing out a couple hundreds and lazily making his way over to the kitchen, the woman waiting patiently for him with her elbows perched on the bench and a wicked smile.

“I win” she sing-songed, snatching the cash from Wolf with a self-satisfied laugh. The Swede pouted.

“I didn’t think he would honestly…”

“Yeaaaah well, prison does that to ya mate; ya see a lady for the first time and boom, suddenly they’re a hooker” she said breezily, quickly and efficiently counting the cash in hand. She paused, glared up at Wolf and held her hand out. Another hundred was placed meekly in her waiting palm. Satisfied, she sashayed past the pair of them and pulled on the scales of the statue _still_ in the middle of the room after all the time they’d had to move it.

Frankly, Hoxton was still confused as hell as she descended the stairs, whistling the tune of “don’t worry, be happy” on her way down.

Wolf nudged his shoulder.

“That was Sydney, she’s twenty-four, a maniac with a gun in hand, and we had a bet on whether you though she was going to be a sex worker or not”

Finally blinking out of his stupor, Hoxton frowned at the sheepish looking Swede.

“…Why?”

“Well, why not? She’s the youngest one here and even with her hair and tattoos, she’s still quite attractive, no?”

Hoxton stared, refusing to give Wolf an answer. Christ, they’d both played him for a damn fool and he hadn’t even been in the safe house five minutes yet.

“Ya lucky I’m tired, or I’d beat the livin’ shit outta you” Hoxton groused, clipping the Swede behind the ear with a sharp smack and dragging himself over to the second spare bed. With a weary huff, he collapsed face first into the musty mattress, ignoring the grating sound of the floor moving back into place and finally – _finally_ – allowing himself to rest.

He’d teach her a lesson for making a fool of him later.


End file.
